


Mask of Iyrs Belgame

by shay_panic



Series: Glass Flowers [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, And at the same time, F/F, F/M, France (Country), Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Past Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regret, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Victorian, Violence, historical fiction - Freeform, i'll add tags as time goes on, i'm sure other things will get added as time goes on, im so sorry to anyone who reads this, references out the wazoo, so o o p s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 01:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11613333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shay_panic/pseuds/shay_panic
Summary: She kept herself drunk on the idea that it would all end, that someday that she would be free from everything that had ever hurt her. But, the thought of this wasn't truly unforgiving, as this was her only familiarity. All she had, and ever would have in this life. The lipstick cases and sin were what she knew best.This dizzy dream kept her mind on the thought of an end, a place to stay and a life to hold on to. This walled up thought to anything was real kept away what hurt her in the world. That the black painted eyes of the others, like her, they would cover up the lies. This ignorance to opening her eyes. To seeing the truth. To waking upWake up, wake upYou're drowningBut this ignorance, just as father had always said, it would keep her safe. That if she just kept her face turned away, just to stay in the dark, that she would be okay. There would be an ending to this.Just as father had once said.No, she could no longer listen...-----Feat. References to MusicalsBecause the author is a dumpster fire





	1. Journal Entry 1; She Was As Real to Me as Anyone Else

**Author's Note:**

> i'm......... s o sorry???  
> \-----

**_The Journal of Philipe de Chantaier_ **

**_Last Entry_ **

**August 12, 1896**

 

The Belgàme Rose was real.

I remember her in a such a detail that most wouldn't be able for bare the thought of it.

Of _her_.

But I? I had no other words than the ones that were spoken for her, and I could tell you every line we ever exchanged. Every thought she told me. I knew it to my broken core.

I could tell you anything about her life, her voice, and form. How her voice was a sound angels envied. How her eyes glittered like a river in the early days of September. Everything about her was something that no man could ever forget.

The earth itself could never get rid of her stamp.

It seems a thousand years ago, I had met her once while on show.

Lost, yet so alive. Light-- eyes filled with stars! She was perfect, as the rose they made her to be. And now it seems she's lost to me.

My darling, Irys... The Rose...

The Cancerous, Belgàme Rose was real And I, too, had once fallen in love with her


	2. Black is The Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introductions, introductions, introductions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so all the references are in t h i s one and i'm lying to both of us   
> (wink wonk and i was referencing Wicked for this e n t i r e chapter???? s t o p m e)

 

> _"I believe in the sun, even when it's not shining."_

 

"Ahh, there's our little flower!" A bright eyed daughter descended from the top of a marble stair case, her face having shown almost no emotions at all except for the subtle remains of a smile that had been gracing her painted lips. The crimson stain contrasting against her pale face as the wrinkles from emotion faded away. Bright, blue-green eyes stared down curiously at a woman beneath the stairs, scanning over her every worn feature and dulled eyes. 

"You're going to be late, flower. Your father has been calling for hours." Better late than never... The flower pondered the statement in her mind and straightened her back up, not trying to delay the unstoppable. Yes, there was no stopping fate, father once said, only delaying it. If only, if only. 

   The daughter froze at the base of the stairs, the gown she wore slipping around her feet against the floor. 

   "You're so beautiful, Irys, a perfect rose." The woman crooned at her child, brushing away her blonde curls with the back of her hand and staring up at her daughter in the same fashion she was given. Happiness, clarity, gentleness. Things only a mother could see in the emotionless eyes that a daughter had held

   Just by looking at the two of them, it was clear that both women came of prestigious name, as the younger's appearance made it obvious. Dark brown hair resting across her shoulders and back, combed and curled into thin ringlets that brushed her neck when she walked. Her body was tightly framed by a black velvet dress, waist cinched tightly by black ties; while the silk and velvet skirt hung loose around her hips. Her legs were covered by black lace stockings, hiding away the smooth, pale flesh behind the intricate styling. 

   A cloak of black silk fluttered over her shoulders and pooled behind her, used merely to keep away the cool of setting autumn. All of this done to make an imperfect, tarnished soul perfect. Well, as perfect as sin could be. 

   Anyone who looked at her could see she was beautiful.

No matter her price.

   "If had any sense at all, I would attempt to keep you for my own self!" The mother laughed quietly, voice gentle in fashion and once again moving her hair away from her dull brown eyes in an attempt to keep vision on her daughter. The younger, the rose that it seemed, giggled in embarrassed delight, eye-lashes fluttering along with her speech.

   "Mother, if you could keep me, I would be shackled to the stairs and kept on watch." The rose's soft laughter filed the open room once more, her blue-green eyes fluttering shut in happiness. "Father would take good care of that thought." The mother sighed quietly, glancing to the floor and shaking her head. 

   "No, your father would just keep you hidden away." The mothers head rose from the floor quickly, smiling lovingly at the girl in front of her while tucking the hair away from her daughters face and off her delicate shoulders. 

   "But enough of that, come along, little flower." The flowers' smiled faded slowly at the mention of her a father, the thought of him now fully registering her mind. It would seem that she knew very well that she would have travel with him tonight, not to return to a place she called home for a long while. 

   Tonight, to be put on show for anyone to see, without anyone there to care about her. But, the thought of this wasn't truly unforgiving, as this was her only familiarity. All she had, and ever would have in this life. The lipstick cases and sin were what she knew best. 

   And the mere thought of this, while painful to the uncovering, was almost euphoric. 

   This dizzy dream kept her drunk on the thought of an end, a place to stay and a life to hold on to. This walled up thought to anything was real kept away what hurt her in the world. That the black painted eyes of the others, like her, they would cover up the lies. This ignorance to opening her eyes. The deafness to waking up. 

   Wake up, wake up

   You're drowning 

   But the ignorance, it would keep her safe

   Just as father had once said...  
No...

   Not a 'father' in any sense. Her thoughts concluded this in an instant, eyes rolling back slightly at it. Never-- No father at all. While it was true, he once guided her in childhood, she no longer wanted to follow. She wasn't a puppet to him, or this damnable profession of his. But in a strange sense, she was correct in what she had said. No daughter should be considered a prize to be won, and no man should ever teach her that. 

   No daughter should be merely sold off like an object of no worth. 

   "Irys, darling!" A man in only black, whom you would assume would be off to a funeral, called out to the bright eyed child in question. Ahh yes, his own. Tragically. 

   "Where have you-" The same man froze within the center of the staircase opposite of the roses, eyes locked on his child with a proud smile and awe-filled stare.

   "Irys, my rose..." The tall, stalkish body of the man descended the stair case, striding slowly to opposite side and taking his place next to the mother without taking his eyes off the young girl. A young girl whom wished he looked at her with eyes of love, rather than eyes of want.

   The daughter crossed the center of the threshold past the base of the stairs, stopping as the image of the fathers own work of art walked towards the only man who had always hurt her, but had never left a mark. 

   The Belgàme Rose herself it seemed, this daughter, the flower, the daughter, was perfect in the most unconventional way. Beautiful, as she was known to be. Perfect, as father had made her. Only now, however, it was clear that the daughter looked more like this man in person and face. As their thick, slightly course hair, and blue-green eyes matched their opposite. 

   However, what had also shown though within those blank eyes, was that her spirit was gentle like her mother. A soft hand, yet a shrill tone to her voice. Just like the rose she was, perfect and soft. Eyes as gentle the flower she was named after, beauty like the name she was given at birth. Yet, with this, it seemed she lacked a thorn. The one thing that could prick your soul and cause the blood that ran for her only to spill across the icy skin that was her own. That one thing.

   One thing--

   "Irys, my dear, you look radiant. Completely beautiful." The man's eyes sparkled with pride, wide with awe and want. Much like a child who had gained his mother's attention. Perhaps, something more in those blue eyes, but the flower refused to look that deep within those pools of hate. "Why, if—" The mother stilled in the moment, her eyes not meeting her husbands but her voice priced the tense. She cleared her throat,trying to rid herself of the feeling of a dry mouth.  Sadly, she knew what he would say to her perfect little girl, and no mother should have to hear this. 

   "Darling..." The mother, who still stood quietly by her child, gently nudged her forward towards her father. "You must go, they'll begin to wonder where you are." The girl stumbled as she walked, but followed the order given by her mother, moving towards her fathers outstretched hand. 

   She moved slowly, as if she didn't want to disturb the air around her with her moving. 

   "You're late as the time is, you need to leave. God knows you don't need to loose anymore money to a man who finds pleasure in placing his hands upon my daughter." The mother's tone was soft, gentle and smooth; yet harsh and unforgiving. This kind of contrast was common in the woman. As it always had been. Still, the rose turned suddenly, facing her mother with horrified eyes. She knew better than to speak in such a way. So...commanding towards father. Especially in this family. Saying too much would get her killed. 

   The daughter swallowed thickly, turning her face away and back to her father in an attempt to get him to listen, to pay attention to her instead. She may be disgusted by those reflections of eyes, but she wouldn't let the one kind woman in her life be turned away for something as important as nothing.  With darkened features, the father looked to his daughter; his expression softened at her stare. Then he nodded silently, surprisingly. 

   "Very well." The father extended his arm to the daughter carefully, who in turn, placed her hand on top of the rough fabric of her fathers suit jacket respectfully. The father bowed his head in goodbye to the mother, turning his back and leading his daughter towards the door. 

   Emotions flared about in the roses head, thoughts drifting about as she was lead out of the home she knew well. Being taken once more, however. Put on show. 

   Wake up, wake up

   My darling  
  


   It had seemed that now she was no longer a child, but a prize to be won. A peace keeper between two things that did;t even have the decency to keep to themselves. The saddest part being, that she knew this well. She knew that she was a prize. That her eyes were 'the seller.' That her skin was rich like leather from Italy. She knew. They told her everything to try and coax her father to sell her to them rather than whoever had put the most on the table. 

   "Master Belgàme," The stable boy at the front of the carriage, who would carry them for the night, held a shrill tone in his otherwise soft voice. Only showing off for the master of the home, refusing to look away from anything that wasn't straight ahead. 

   The father just sighed in anguish and stepped into darkness, only then abandoning his daughters following hand. 

   The rose looked up at the boy, face shaded by her cloak but she knew he could see her face in the moonlight. With flickering eyes, he gave her the smallest of grins, just barely twitching his lip up. 

   "Iyr--" He froze, realization flushing over him like a wave of remembrance. 

   "The Rose." The softer tone left him, eyes once against cast forward and away from her longing stare. 

   A sigh escaped her lips as she stepped slowly into an shadowed carriage, pulling her cloak tighter around her body to keep away the chilling wind of early December, keeping away the chill of a fading fall.

   While she had once believed that this would all end, and thought she wouldn't have to do this forever. But, now? Asking her if she still believed in the hopeless dream. But as always, she complied with what she had to do. What was forced upon this damned family, and its damned profits. As far as she gave interest into, this family could perish and die, and she knew she wouldn't feel a thing about it doing so. She knew she wouldn't feel any pang of guilt. 

   Still, with these thoughts, she rested silently; as always expected. The daughter rested on the far left of the carriage, her father taking up the opposite side. 

   "Are you ready, my rose?" The flower raised her lowered head to meet the eyes of her father. Without a spoken word she nodded and turned her face away from his stare, knowing it was the one thing she could do in this situation. There was no more fighting it. She was an object of peace, that was all she would be to him and what he had done. I am a prize to be won, an object to be earned, and a place to be bought. The mere thought of that truth made anger burn in her veins, like fire against flesh. 

   I will not be a prize to be won

   "Iyrs..." The man sighed, placing his hand upon her clasped ones, which sat nearly in her lap. "I love you, as any father should—" An offended expression crossed her features, eyebrows furrowing in unwarranted rage. 

   "You are no father to me, you are a guardian I must have. You don't not love me, you love the prize I give you." Her words were sharp off her tongue, her hands being snapped away from his touch; not a single stare was ever turned his way. "There is nothing you could ever give me, or show me, to prove any different. No man, no object, no amount of money could ever change that. Nothing ever would." The father sighed in disappointment, failure in his own blue green eyes. 

   There was no other way to explain it, she was correct and he knew this. Yet, he honestly thought there was a way to change that. He had bet her, sold her, and passed her around for pleasure. The insolent fool! The evil creature, how dare he?

   "I apologize for the things I have done, my rose—" The daughter sighed at her fathers insolent words, her teeth gritting together as she turned away. 

   "You have no right to say this to me, the rose you left behind and used on borrowed time." The man watched as his own eyes glared at him in a way that could place the devil on his knees. He never thought he would see it in her, the looks he gave to anyone else. Yet, here she sat, eyes glowing in blind fury.

   "Rose--" Just as she went to speak, another voice rounded through from the front. 

   "Master Belgàme." The carriage sputtered to a halt, the clicking of hooves being the only other sound in the air. "We have arrived, sir." Only then did the man take his eyes off his daughter, looking to the side and to the floor. 

   "Thank you, Ramses." His gaze returned to the fuming girl across from him. "Stay here a moment, rose. I shall return for you." And with this, exited the darkness of the cabin and into the open air. Though blind furry told her run after the man that had caused her such pain, the flower remain still within the cabin, ears intent on listening for--

   "It's alright now, Irys." 

   A smile spread across her features, her cloak fluttering behind her as she darted from the cabin and to the front without a single thought. Her eyes fluttered around curiously, wondering where her father and dragged her away to. Oh god. While she hated the thoughts that it brought along, yet there was a beautiful sight to be seen. 

   Beneath an endless, moonless sky, sat an incredibly built concert hall. Surrounding it where the carriages owned by the upstanding family's that she unfortunately all knew by name, all them here for one thing. Her. 

   It was almost disappointing, however, to see this kind of turn out with her here. There were normally more people here. Alas, affairs of state are inescapable. She knew from the experience of such. 

   "Is he gone, Ramses?" The rose's quiet voice called out, pale hands edging against the dark wood of her own carriage carefully. 

   "Yes, Irys..." Carefully moving from the shadows, the daughter walked into light. Her cloak settled to the ground as she walked forward, trailing behind her nearly silent form.

   "I despise being in that thing, especially with my father." The words rolled off her tongue like water, her father's name coming off like the poison of a viper into the throat of a rabbit. She mumbled quietly about him, no words really ever making it into the open air. 

   God, perhaps someone heard her. She could be killed. 

   Still, even in her fit of uncomfortableness and anger, she reached out to stroke the neck of one of her horses calmly, having it press up into her hand at her presence. 

   "Don't the rest of us." The stable boy laughed, sliding off of his pedestal and joining the young rose. "He's quite the commanding one." A darker skinned hand joined her own pale one, showering the affection upon one horse in their quiet speech. But, even with the comfort of something from home, she still went on. 

   "Commanding, over-bearing, controlling, ungodly heights of agitation. I could go on." The rose rolled her eyes into her skull, a curse on her quiet breath. 

   "I see." The stable boy, as affectionate as he was, ran a thumb comfortingly across the daughters hand. He only meant the best for her. "Well, all of us on his staff think the same. Perhaps it is different, you are his daughter. Only one, too." The flower scoffed, thinking over every encounter she had ever known with her father. Each one included a ball gown filled room or strung quartets, long nights left alone in her room while he attended to other affairs. 

   More like cheating on his wife and disrespecting his daughters right to live. The daughter sighed, heart heavy in her chest as she shook her head in remembrance. 

   "You have no clue," The rose's voice was still, not shaken at all by her thoughts and memory. "You don't live with him, Ramses. He's awful. Have you seen the way he treats mother? I would be lying if I said I haven't witnessed him lay a hand on her. It's terrible. God, if I could get my hands on that vile creature." The flame within her eyes grew by that moment, every word fueling the hate she felt in her soul. Everything she had ever felt hatred for him for bubbling within her chest. 

   "I apologize, Iyrs—" The stable boy looked away from her gaze, staring at the ground outside. According to his master, he wasn't allowed to look at the girl in the eyes, reminding him many time that it was disrespectful to look that way at one of his masters. "I really do, he truly must be awful." The rose sighed, taking the boys free hand in her own, calmly lacing their fingers in that dim silence. No one would ever know. 

   "Do not apologize for the things that are far from reach, Ramses, for there is nothing we can do for those things." A smile graced the girls lips for a brief moment, almost happy in that moment, before it faded away with a slightly saddened stare. "You know, when father is not around, I do not mind if you look upon me, Ramses." For a moment, the stable boy stayed quiet only looking up to meet her stare seconds later with tentative eyes. 

   "Thank you, Iyrs." The young woman smiled at him kindly, bowing her head respectfully. The stable boy grinned back at her, drunk on the idea of her kindness. It was true, she was nothing like her father. No matter how much he made her that way.

"I do love that Persian skin of yours, it's beautiful to me." The flower ran a fingertip up the boys arm, stopping at the shoulder before drawing back. 

"Back home," Ramses grabbed her hand, planted a kiss on her palm, then held the part of her to his chest in an act of pure love. "In Persia, I had never seen a girl like you before I left, and was told only of Persian girls. But you," He kissed her forehead gently, the girl moving closer at the action. 

"Yes?" She prompted, urging him to continue. 

"You have me seeing through different eyes, my dear. I never truly thought that I could ever have the chance to fall in love with the palest moon, but it seems that God has blessed me with you." The rose's face flushed, a smile on her painted lips. 

   "You truly are the sweetest thing I have ever met, or had the privilege to rest my gaze upon." The daughter spoke with soft words, afraid of who would listen to their secret words of affection. No one was allowed to know, especially not father. God knows what would happen to him then. 

   "And you are undoubtably, with no other thought," The stable boy turned towards the flower, gently cupping her face with his free hand like it was the first time he ever had. "Are the most beautiful thing I have had the pleasure of serving." The rose smiled, face flushing into color as her face heated against his hand. The eyes of the older male fluttered down at her, studying her features as if they would never meet again. 

Iyrs, you know that you undoubtably never see this boy again. The thought caused the flowers face to cast down upon the rocky earth. She was right. Even with the best of chances, Ramses would be gone in a year and she would never have the pleasure of seeing this boy again. 

No matter your stubborn effort to do so. You must let him go. 

   "Ramses," The rose paused, placing a hand upon his shoulder, the other curling around a fold on the coat her father had provided him for the night being. The stable boy nodded at her voice, eyes staring back like it was the most natural thing he could do. Like it was an instinctive action.

   "Yes, Iyrs?" The sound of her name rolling off his foreign tongue in such a way made a shiver slip down her back and lather in skin in a chill. But she had no time for the afterthought of such a calling. 

   "Kiss me. Now," The rose sighed, and pulled herself closer to him. "Kiss me like it will be the last time you see me. The last time you can touch me like this." The daughter slid the one hand from her jaw to her waist, sliding over her hip and stopping at her thigh, only pulling back up again when his fingertip brushed the thin fabric that let him touch her flesh with a cold sting. She leaned up and brushed her lips across his ear, as if telling him the one thing he should ever need to know. 

"For this may be the final time you ever think of me again." 

   For pure shock on its own, the stable boy fell in a hush, unable to answer the feverish daughter. Only was he able to slide his other hand down respectfully to her hip, resting in within the fold of her skirt. 

   "Are you--" 

   "Please." 

   It was a flash of clashing lips, tongue, and teeth, brought together in the most delightful way they could imagine. Seemingly better  than all the kisses shared under dimmed moonlight, hidden behind stone walls, and kept deadly quiet within the chambers of the young rose, lit only by candle light.  In a most familiar, yet foreign way, it was the one kiss they shared that was ever gentle, long enough to show the want and pain, the fear and love for the other. Almost unable to let go. 

   "Iyrs, we--" Their lips parted with a soft click, the two of them almost staying completely still within that moment. "We can't, I'll end up doing something that you--" 

  "Ramses, please." The rose was desperate, wanting to get all she could from this last encounter. Wanting everything she could get from this one man. This one boy.

   "Darling, I--"

     "I don't care you won't stop!" The eyes of the daughter flooded with tears of regret, only wanting her lover to be with her now. "I don't care if you can't stop, I don't want you to." She paused, a moment for tears to fall and a cry to rip her throat. 

   "Iyrs," The stable boy lifted her face, drying the tears that darkened her pale skin. "Iyrs, I never wanted--" 

   "No. No, just," The roe stopped,  looking up and sucking in a deep breath. "Kiss me too fiercely and hold me too tight. I need to know your here with me. My wildest thought said I wouldn't be here with you but just for this moment, while you're still mine, do this. I've dropped my defenses and I've crossed the border lines. I don't need this to be over too fast. I'll make this last moment last. For as long as your mine." The stable boy had tucked his face within the crook of her neck, staying there and listening to ever word, holding onto them like they would be the last thing she ever said to anyone. God, why does he make me feel this way?

   "Perhaps I am brainless, Iyrs, perhaps loving you this way makes me wise. But it seemed that overtime, I stopped being able to tell which it was. I found I've somehow fallen under your spell. I know that this won't be the end for us as a pair, I'll always be here to want you." The rose sighed within the moment of silence, looking up at the moonless sky, as if it had signified their last moments together as a pair. The end had fallen upon the both of them. 

   "We've borrowed the moonlight, for now it is through. But know that I'll be here, wanting you too." Her response was short and cut off by tears, voice shaking in the silence. Ramses raised his head, looking down upon the one girl he had sworn never to fall in love with. The one had been told not to even look at. 

  "And when I see you again?" His voice, gentle in tone, held the most longing she had ever heard from him. Like it was the first time he was saying he loved her. 

   "Ramses, you know you won't--" 

   "When. I. See. You." He's so very sure of himself.

   "I'll wake up my body, and I'll make up for the lost time." With this, the stable boy tucked himself back into the neck of the daughter, sliding the shoulder of her dress to the side. 

   "Let this stay as long as you are," He paused, only stopping to leave a mark upon her shoulder. Showing the only evidence of him ever being near her, which would soon be hidden away and be only a memory of the pleasure he once brought her. 

   "Mine." The rose gasped at the feeling, tilting her head away from the place of assault as the fabric of her dress covered the marking. So father would never know...

   "I'm so sorry, Ramses. I always will be." Silence filled the air between them as they broke apart. From then on, it would be the one moment to two pf them had ever spent in prolonged silence. Comfortable, depressing, silence. That was, before another voice filled her ear, calling for her and filling her body with unwanted anxiety.

   "They have requested you, my rose..." The eyes of the flower fluttered shut with a deep breath into her lungs, turning to face the man she called father. Her own personal monster. Blue eyes looked up to those of their match, different emotions held within each. With back to still turned, the eyes of the daughter fluttered open with aggression glittering 

   "Rose." His voice was soft against the night air, smooth from the champagne and thick from the cigars. 

   The daughter kept her back turned to the voice, unwavering in her stance against it. Her hands were frozen at her side, now moved away from the comfort that of which the stable boy brought to her. Even the heat from the one that had crossed her fingertips now gone, faded into the cold night air. 

   "Now," The father gently grabbed at his daughters wrist, pulling her frame to face him. "You can't keep them waiting."  _Believe me, you have no idea how long I truly could._  The flower once again, with hesitance, placed her hand on the extended arm of her father; the other holding up the velvet skirt of her gown.

   "I thought I instructed you to stay away from him." The father's voice dripped animosity, his stature now stiff with anger as he lead his daughter towards the concert hall. The rose smiled at the mention of the dark skinned boy, her voice coming out gentle and calm. 

   "He isn't as terrible as you believe, father," The daughter rolled her eyes back in her head, her voice soft in tone as she spoke. As if she were explaining this to a small child. "He is kind, you're just to blind in hate to see that."

   "His kindness is false, Iyrs." The father tried to explain, hatred filling his speech, but the rose seemed completely uninterested in what he had to say. There was no helping what could not be helped. 

   "His kindness warranted, father, he is nothing but a boy and you seem far too interested in what his affairs are rather than your own." The flower retaliated quietly, her words sharp yet filled with understanding. 

   "My rose--" The father began to speak, but soon shortened his words. There was no use in resisting, no point in fighting. For now, she would believe what she would. There was no changing this, sadly so. 

    However, the darkness was suddenly lifted from the conversation, candle light and excited words soon bathing the face of both the flower and her father. Women in dark ballgowns and men dressed in what seemed to be mourning wear dashed to and from room to room, hall to hall, many of them speaking of the daughter in question. It was almost degrading in a way, hearing that every word spoken by anyone was about you. The way that you couldn't tell anything that they were saying, but you knew already what was being said. The familiarity to the situation was sickening. 

   While this was true, the daughter had been taught to enjoy what she could. It wouldn't last long enough to suffer over. As such, she relished in fact that she was treated much like royalty here, and to some, she was as simply stated. Royal. 

    _Priceless_

   "You do remember what is expected of you, don't you Iyrs?" The father had  now leaned close to the flower's ear, his hand guiding her through the hoards of people who turned to stare and whisper of the fabled girl. The rose nodded understandingly at his words, sighing near silently to herself 

   "Do not speak unless spoken to, do not stumble over your words or your feet, do not deny of anyone of a request, and do not say a word about whom you leave with tonight." She recited the words as they had been listed on a sheet infant of her, the commands flowing off her tongue like water  down a stream. Simple, calm, and without failure to go on. The man whom she had entered with stared down at her, impressed by her ability to remember the commands without fail. 

   "Good girl." The father slowly lead her ahead of him, the air now slightly more open and free as she entered the ballroom in silence.  

   The sound in the air within this room was much softer than the last, this hall now filled with the ghosts of conversation and the gentle sounds of a string quartet playing a waltz. The young girl smiled at the sound of the music in the air, it's calming familiarity giving her shelter for what was yet to come. Giving her solace from such a rueful storm that brewed merely over the horizon of time. 

   The father pulled his piece of personal art close to him by the waist, eyes scanning protectively around the room as if he was trying to convince the rose that he wouldn't sell her off. 

   "You look astonishing, little rose." The flower tensed at the words of her father, a shiver passing through her body at the feeling of air drifting across her cheek. 

   "Thank you, father." The daughters voice was short, unfeeling towards anything he had to say.  _Then again, I'd grown short with this awhile ago._

   The night followed on much like this, the daughter unable to escape the whispers of her name and gentle touches of passerby; all of them just trying to taste what she had to offer. It seemed at this point there were no longer stares of gentle want, rather now their eyes gazed upon with eyes of lust and greed. As if they were sizing her up for use.  _Disgusting bastards, looking at me like the vile creatures they are, it's appalling._  It was no longer clear whether or not these thoughts were shone clear on her face, as anything else she had thought over the night. It seemed like every other sick man in the room has his gaze somehow set upon her, staring her down in the most intimidating fashion passible. At this realization, the daughter tensed.

   "Are you alright, my flower?" It was almost as if a wolf in sheep's skin was speaking to her. A man whom had harmed her so much in that past now seeming genuinely concerned about her wellbeing, it was nearly unthinkable.   

   "I'm alright, nervous is all." She replied quietly, back stiffening in response to the possessive tightening of her fathers hand upon her hip. 

   "Nothing will happen to you, my rose," The girl flinched subtly due to the feeling of her side meeting her fathers, his arm curling to bring her closer. "This much I promise you." These words should have been comforting, encouraging even, but these words from such a man had put no feeling other than dread in her veins.

      _That was a lie_ , thought the rose. She knew what was to happen. Just like every other young girl there that night, she would be put on show. Paraded around like an animal with a sightless price tag on her shoulder. 

     As long as she didn't enter the ballroom, she was safe. She wouldn't have to dance, she wouldn't have to sing, she could just go home to mother.  _If only it were that simple,_ she thought, solemn but strong. 

   The father slowly began to lead his daughter from place to place within the hall, stopping occasionally to make short conversation with unrecognizable faces. Still, as always the faces passed and faded away, unable to please her father in any way. At least, not for now. She was sure one of them would put enough money on the table for her. 

   "Monsieur Belgàme," A nameless voice sounded from behind the pair, hastily drawing near as if they were to disappear if he took too long. The daughter was the first turn and face the voice, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. The man whom her eyes met seemed much like her father, tall and quite stalkish in build. His face showed no signs of age other than a few graying hairs that were sporadicly placed across his face and neck. 

   "Iyrs..." The nameless man froze, eyes suddenly widening at her appearance to him. He bowed respectfully her way, watching as she lowered her head in response. Slowly, at her reaction to him, he rose back up to face her, taking her hand within his own. 

   "A beautiful name, for the," He paused, placing a kiss on her knuckles. "Equally beautiful rose herself." A polite smile made it's way across his features, the rose doing all she could to return it. 

   "Master de Chanter," The father paused in his words, eyeing the man up and down before continuing. "I'm surprised you even came to see anyone here tonight." The moment wore on between the two, the fathers grip on his daughter tightening with the passing seconds. 

  "Please, monsieur," The man's eyes drifted over to the rose, his expression faltering for only a second. "I would always come to watch your daughter."  

   "Interesting." Silence settled upon the two of them, neither being able to go to make the first move to speak or move. Soon enough, one of them started, and the other followed. 

     While the two of them rattled on, some things in English, others in French 

   "Unfortunately, my daughter has been requested elsewhere. If you don't mind my leaving." The nameless man held up a hand, freely backing away to show a break in the conversation. This is when the realization of the moment dawned upon the girl. 

   "Father," Her voice came out desperate, pleading even, unlike the strong girl everyone had come to see her as. "Don't take me back there--" 

   "We must return, flower." His voice was unfaltering, his gaze not even moving away to meet her own. No? An untouched rage boiled within the veins of the daughter, burning her blood and coursing through her faster than it should have. 

   I am not a prize to be won 

   "No!" The daughter spun from the protective grasp of her father, eyes locked with his in either blind furry or ungodly fear. Perhaps a toxic mixture of both. "You promised me, one day I wouldn't have to do this, that I would be able to escape the lies. I can't do handle them any longer, father! Don't put me through this ordeal by fire. Someone will take me, I know, but one day I fear that they will never let me go! You think I'm blind to what they do, but I know. I know what they do to girls like me when they no longer want them, when they want to throw us out. The kill without a thought, murder all thats good. I know I've been taught not to refuse, but now, I wish I could..." Twisted every which way, what answer was a man to give? On one side, he was a father, the other? A man of many, damnable lives. But now, nothing there, within either, could save him. 

   "I will not  risk my own life to win the chance to live." This was where they both saw each other as is, finally seeing where true distortion lies. But three was no real end here. the father reached out, blindly  doing whatever came first to mind in order for the girl to listen. Without any regret, he struck her across the cheek, knocking her to the side. Gasps filled the hall and silence filled the rest. Now, it merely these two still standing. 

   "Iyrs," He paused straightening up his stanchion front of her as a more domineering nature covered his mind. "Go. You know well  what you are, a prize, a peace keeper, and a object of worth. It's what you were made for, and I won't stand by and watch you act as if you never knew thing. Now, leave." The daughter kept her eyes upon the floor, a single tear sliding down her pale features. 

   "You may have once guided me, and once, I even wept over your life," She straightened, drawing her hand away from her check as fury filled her bring blue eyes. "But the tears I might have once shed for your dark fate, have grown cold and turned to tears of hate." 

   "You tarnished, ungrateful soul...You truly don't know." With this, the father reached within the pocket of his coat, a pen knife now held tightly in his grasp. "It's time you learn how  life truly treats the rose garden that you so graciously were grown into." The father, as if in slowed time, swung out at the girl, blade cutting through her face from her forehead to throat. 

   A burning sort of pain tore through her nerves, her hand instinctively reaching up to hide the blemish from any onlooker. Blood covered her flesh and pooled upon the floor, staining everything it touched with a memory of what had happened. Now, branded by fate, the rose watched as the form of her father cut through the crowd and out of her limited sight, forever it now seemed. Voice came from every where as the rose backed away from anyone who looked upon her.

"No, please, forgive me. I—" A numbness washed over her features, now, unable to feel the extreme slash across her face. Slowly, her hand was drawn away from her face as she turned in a slow circle.

"Rose," A voice came from her side, close. A hand gently grabbed her arm, attempting in vain to try and calm the distressed daughter. "Rose, please calm down. You'll be alright, but, you need the attention of—" 

"No!" The rose pulled away quickly, her hand hiding the side of her bloodied face. "I must, I must go." She turned once again, her small form cutting through the people as husbands pulled their wives away from the bleeding girl. Others, men on their own, tried to reach out to the girl. Assuming why they were there, it was for their own selfish reasons. 

Women screamed, turning away from the rose as she rushed out of the concert hall, trying to escape from the many stares of everyone around her. Trying to save what little part over her she now had. 

"I have to, get away, I must—" 

"Irys?!" Another softer, gentler, voice called from in front of her. "Irys, what are you—" The daughter had already began to run towards the voice, its familiarity bringing her closer to it. Ramses.

"Ramses, I, I don't know what happened I just, I—" The dark skinned boy reached forward towards the girl, his face contorting in concern. 

"Darling, what have they done to you?" The flower let out a soft cry, her hand being slowly pulled from her face as her secret lover examined her wound. She pulled back, attempting to hide away from the eye of her lover, knowing that she was no longer the 'little rose' the world had made to her be. She was, cancer. 

"Ramses, I..." The rose trailed off, a dizziness washing over her body. "Father, he, he tried to take me back to the room but I, I couldn't go. I wound't let him—"

"Do you mean that he has done this to you?" The stableboy stared down at the girl, watching in muted anger as she nodded and swayed slightly with another wave of dizziness. 

"Yes, but, forgive me, "She paused, air heavy in her chest. "For I feel a bit faint and..." 

"No, no, darling. I"ll take you to get attention to this. You'll be alright, my sweet." The stableboy places a gentle kiss on her forehead, taking the girl in a childlike hold. Her vision fades out of focus, soon fading away completely and slipping into complete darkness. 

   The Belgàme Rose was real

   And it seemed that now, she was merely cancer to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so bad and I'm sorry

**Author's Note:**

> \-----  
> i have no idea how long it will be between updates but kudos and comments are vv h e l p f u l


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